


Drunk On You

by sweeterthankarma



Category: Wynonna Earp (TV)
Genre: Dolls is soft and in love and also not accustomed to how alcohol works, Drunken Confessions, F/M, I Will Go Down With This Ship, Literal Sleeping Together
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-08
Updated: 2017-12-08
Packaged: 2019-02-12 05:33:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12952386
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweeterthankarma/pseuds/sweeterthankarma
Summary: Anonymous requested, "Dolls gets drunk at Shorty's and he can't drive home so Wynonna has to come pick him up, and he's drunkenly confessing his love to her the whole time. Then he says something along the lines of "well shit I know you love Doc" and she reassures him. They end up sleeping in the same bed again because she doesn't want to leave him alone."





	Drunk On You

When Wynonna gets the call, she thinks she’s the intoxicated one.

She was just about to get into the shower, let the heat and steam wash away the long day’s troubles and call it a night, when her phone rings- not once, not twice, not even three, but  _ four  _ times, all from Waverly. When she answers the phone, she’s too worried to even care that she left the shower on and she didn’t close the curtain and water’s beginning to flood the floor- four calls from Waverly can’t mean anything good. 

Hearing that Dolls is drunk at Shorty’s is just about the last thing she expected to hear her sister say. 

    “Dolls? Drunk? Are you shitting me?” Wynonna can’t help it, it’s her boss- her  _ maybe something more but who knows things are too complicated for her to really focus on it _ coworker, friend, her... _ Dolls. _

    “Yeah, it’s weird,” Waverly says. “I’ve never seen him so laid back.”

    “Yeah, no shit, he doesn’t drink. Like,  _ ever. _ This isn’t like him.” Wynonna heads back into the bathroom, shutting off the faucet and muttering expletives as she steps through a puddle of water, throwing a couple towels on the ground and slamming the door behind her. She doesn’t have time to deal with that right now, the wood floor is worn enough anyways. 

    “Doc’s not giving him any more alcohol, obviously,” Waverly assures, “but it’s so strange, he just keeps talking about you and it’s just so awkward.”

    “Shit, of course Doc had to be working tonight,” Wynonna says as she pulls an outfit from her closet, putting her phone on speaker as she dresses. “Of all days, you couldn’t have taken this shift? This is going to be so awkward-”

    “Wynonna, I don’t even work at Shorty’s anymore!” Waverly’s voice is an exasperated half-sigh, half-laugh, and Wynonna can faintly hear a voice in the background- it sounds like Dolls, but at the same time, not like him at all.

    “Listen, I’m coming,” Wynonna says. “Make sure my boss doesn’t break anything.” She hangs up and can’t help but roll her eyes as she locks the front door behind her. She did  _ not  _ expect to be dealing with this tonight.

 

Drunk Dolls is weird. That’s the only thing Wynonna can think when she walks up behind him in the bar and gains earshot of what he’s saying. His speech is slurred and he’s saying something about golf, of all things, and Wynonna’s  _ really _ starting to think she’s in the twilight zone now. 

When she comes to stand beside him, he turns his head slow, taking a moment to register that she’s there. And then his hand is on her arm, soft and light, and he mumbles something that sounds like,  _ " hiii, Imissedyouareyoureallyhere?" _

Without thinking Wynonna puts a hand on his shoulder, steadying him, and takes his other hand. She meets Doc’s gaze from across the bar, tending to a customer’s drink, and gives him a look that practically screams “get over here  _ now." _

    “Well, I did not expect to see you here at this late hour,” Doc says when he approaches. He barely gives Dolls a second glance.

    “It’s nine thirty,” Wynonna deadpans. 

    “I do believe you had been improving on your evening drinking habits, am I wrong?” Doc asks, before flashing a smile. “But what can I get you?”

Wynonna ignores him. “What did you give him?” She asks, motioning to Dolls. He’s balancing his glass on an angle, watching the liquid slosh inside and Wynonna takes it out of his hands and pushes it towards Doc, a little forcefully. He’s clueless, and she’s suddenly so thankful that Waverly happened to stop by and see what was happening.

    “He had his fair share of Scotch, and may I say he did disclose some rather interesting things,” Doc says. “I’d say he’s had enough for tonight, but he’s doing alright.”

Wynonna, as drunk and exuberant as she can be, knows how to recognize intoxication in other people, especially those that aren’t as practiced in drinking as she is. Overprotective and paranoid, she knows Dolls, and she’s never seen him like this. 

    “Doc, he doesn’t drink,” Wynonna says, voice firm. “Like,  _ ever. _ Come on, you should know that.”

    “I do believe you are better acquainted with the gentleman than I am,” Doc says, voice level. Wynonna is overcome with the sudden urge to slam her fist into the side of his jaw.

She looks at Dolls, who is simply rubbing the back of her hand with his thumb a little too avidly and looking at her with a grin that she’s just not used to. He clearly doesn’t register the content of the conversation between Wynonna and Doc, and even when she says, “come on, let’s go home” to him, he stays quiet until she slings her arm around his shoulders and he mumbles sounds under his breath.   
“Thanks for the help!” Wynonna yells once she’s at the exit of Shorty’s, struggling to hold open the door and keep Dolls upright. She throws up her hand to flip Doc off, and Dolls chases her hand, trying to hold it again. Wynonna has to bite back a smile.

    “Come on, idiot,” she mutters, “in the car.”

Dolls surprisingly complies. Wynonna fights with the heat in the car, swearing at the buttons a few times before jabbing them with her index finger until a flux of hot air finally makes its way out of the vents. Wynonna drives fast, glancing occasionally at Dolls to make sure he’s upright and staying conscious. She’s mad, but she’s also mildly entertained. She’s never seen Dolls drunk before. She doesn’t know what could have caused him to decide to drink- he’s made it obvious that alcohol isn’t, and has never been, something that he enjoys- so it’s a little concerning to think of what could have driven him to this point. Especially since he started out with Scotch, even Scotch isn’t something she chooses often. But with Doc working the bar, who knows what, and how much, of something he could have given him. She gives herself a mental note to actually punch him in the face tomorrow. 

Dolls has begun to mumble to himself in the passenger seat, eyes closed as he tilts his head away from her. 

    “Hey, stay with me,” Wynonna says, swatting at his arm. “No sleeping, stay awake.”

Dolls practically pouts. He gives her a look that’s basically the textbook definition of “puppy dog eyes” and Wynonna has no idea how to handle it. 

    “I don’t want you to…” he trails off, and Wynonna can’t help her sigh. He turns his head again. 

    “Hey, keep your eyes on me,” she says, taking his hand and moving it to the center of the console. This seems to snap him back to reality; he stares at their conjoined hands for a long time before looking up at her face.

_ "Idon’tknowwhyIdrankbutI’mgladyou’rewithme,"  _ he says, the words tumbling out. “I was being...thinking and I thought of you a  _ looootttt  _ but _ I’mgladyoucame." _

Wynonna just nods, focusing on the road.

    “I really...I really wish you... _ wishyouweren’twithDoc, _ ” Dolls says, words coming out so fast Wynonna isn’t sure she heard him right. But he just keeps going.

    “Because I really....really, I like you and you know that,  _ youprobablyknowthat  _ but I really wish you didn’t love...love Doc because I l-l-love…” Wynonna thinks she’s going to die. Dolls doesn’t say it, but she really thinks she’s going to die anyway. 

    “...Love when we’re together and you...you touch me, like...at all, that makes me really…”

    “Please don’t say horny, please don’t say horny,” Wynonna whispers under her breath, but keeps her hand steady on his; this time she’s the one tracing circles with her thumb on the back of his hand.

    “You make me feel like I...could actually be with someone...you know,  _ someonelikeyoubecause  _ you’re so beautiful and you’re just...so beautiful.” 

He drops his head against the seat back again, just looking at her. She’s biting her lip, probably flushing pink and she knows it, but good God, how can she not? As weird as all of this is, as creepy as it would be if she hadn’t known him for as long as she has, it’s  _ Dolls. _ It’s the person who’s been her boss, officially and unofficially, who’s stayed by her side through all the bullshit she’s put him through- he kissed her when she was pregnant with someone else’s baby, for Christ’s sake- and so suddenly, she has an epiphany.  

She gets it. More than she had before- because she’d be lying if she said she didn’t know, but things have been so complicated and she just didn’t have time, and Doc was Doc which was frustrating but also someone she needed around, and she just didn’t realize. She didn’t realize how hard it must have been for Dolls to have her reach out to him, back when she kissed him at the Wainwright, and have him reach back only for her to be already tied down to someone else, simply because of a mistake that led to a child. She was too busy feeling sorry for herself and Doc and her baby and her sister and her sister’s girlfriend to think about Dolls, how his “ _ I don’t do relationships _ ” had turned into “ _ I need you _ ” and a sad, sad kiss in a clockmaker’s mansion, even when he knew she was already no longer his. 

    “Hey,” Wynonna says after a moment, and it takes all of her strength to keep her voice from cracking. “I’m not with Doc. I don’t love him. Not like...not like you think I do.”

She’s thankful that she’s just about to pull into the driveway of the homestead, because she really might cry. Dolls is still looking at her in that way, and she still doesn’t know how to respond, but this time she’s just sad. And sorry, not like she could change the way that things had played out.

When she finally parks, she lets out a deep breath. 

    “Did you hear me?” she asks Dolls.

He mumbles something incoherent, head falling forward a bit, and she grabs his jaw, hand on his cheek, keeping him upright. 

    “Hey, we’re gonna go inside, okay?” she says gently. “Come on, you need to sleep.”

Wynonna makes her way around to the passenger side of the car, opening the door and unbuckling Dolls’s seatbelt. She grabs his hand again, slowly guiding him, and she can’t help but marvel, even as he’s drunk and mumbling and  _ stupid _ , something he’s never been, that it feels familiar to take his hand, even just seconds after she was just holding it. 

Her other hand finds his shoulder, leveling him, and before she can stop him he’s lurching towards her, strong arms around her fast, but ridiculously gentle considering his state. He just hugs her, face buried in her hair and mumbles of,  _ "Iwishwespentmoretimetogether" _ in her neck. She wants to respond saying they do spend most hours of every day together, but she just lets him stay there until he moves away. She relishes in it, even if she shouldn’t; she wishes she was more annoyed and put off with this, and if it was anyone else she thinks she would be, but it’s him. And it’s been too long since she’s hugged him anyways.

It lasts long, and it’s sweet and it matters, even if he is ridiculously drunk, but Wynonna’s neck is cramping and it’s so cold out she’s pretty sure she’s getting frostbite on her cheek that isn’t pressed against his jacket, so she pulls away and leads him inside. He stumbles but makes it up the steps, and barely says a word when she brings him into her room and sets him on her bed. He’s wearing a sweater so he can keep that on, she thinks, but sleeping in jeans isn’t fun, she knows this from experience. And he may be drunk, but she doesn’t think he’s drunk enough to make a real move on her.

So she tells him to take off his pants.

At this point she can tell the alcohol is starting to hit him harder, so she leaves to get him a glass of water, relieved that when she returns he’s sitting on her bed, upright but looking much more tired than he had seconds before.

She tries to ignore the fact that he’s in her bed, in his boxers, and hands him the water before climbing in next to him. 

He takes a long sip and then just stares straight ahead.

    “You okay?” she asks. 

Dolls turns, and this time there’s more clarity in his gaze when it falls on her. “Don’t know what I did, but I...think I just need sleep.”

Wynonna puts her hand on his arm again, guiding him as he lays back. 

    “Stay on your side,” she warns. “There’s a trash basket on the floor next to you, and if you throw up on my bed I’ll actually kill you.”

A slight chuckle leaves his throat, and she knows he’s still with her, still himself. When she gets up to shut the lights off, she catches a glimpse of him- in her bed, eyes closed, looking relaxed even though she knows he’s hitting the stage of drunkenness where everything aches and feels like a mistakes- and the thought is in her mind before she can stop it: she wishes he wasn’t drunk, that he could just be in her bed like this,  _ sober _ . 

    “Didn’t think this is the way I’d get you in my bed,” she murmurs when she slides into bed next to him, her words only half a joke. 

He whines, adjusting his head against the pillow before relaxing, and she can’t help it, she leans over and kisses his cheek. He stirs just a bit, one more time, before his breathing steadies and he falls asleep. 

She lays there longer than she expects to, since she’s exhausted herself, especially after the past couple hours’ stress. She replays his words, slurred confessions muttered over and over on repeat in her head until finally she finds sleep too. 

  
  


It’s six AM when Dolls wakes up, in a coughing fit from a throat so dry it feels like sandpaper, thus waking Wynonna up. She’s just as surprised to wake up to a body next to hers as he is- neither of them are used to it, of course- but they both remember rather quickly why they’re here. Even Dolls, who seems to be suffering from a traditional- and expected- hangover, looks at Wynonna with guilt in his eyes after he grabs a glass of water and ibuprofen. She’s a little surprised he remembers last night at all; if anything is blurry in his memories he doesn’t give any sign of it.

Dolls lays back down, and for a minute Wynonna thinks he’s just going to ignore her- on her side, watching him and waiting for him to say anything- but then he sighs and turns to face her. 

    “I’m sorry,” is all he says, and she feels something inside of her twist because why does he look so upset? Why does he look so afraid?

She shakes her head. “Don’t be. You’ve had to deal with me drunk a shit ton of times, it’s about time I experienced you under the influence.”

    “It’s not a great time,” he grimaces, but there’s the slightest hint of a smile on his lips.

    “It was kind of entertaining,” Wynonna admits, because it was, and also she doesn’t want him to feel so bad about it.

    “Maybe,” he replies. A pause. “I said stupid shit though.”

Wynonna adjusts her position, propping her head up on her hand. “Everyone does, that’s kind of what alcohol does to you.”

He’s quiet for a minute, and Wynonna thinks maybe he’s going to go back to sleep, but then he turns and faces her. It’s suddenly intimate, but she’s not afraid- it feels comfortable.

    “I shouldn’t have said the things I did. About you, about Doc...about everything. It was all so stupid.”

Wynonna frowns. “It happened. It’s okay. I’m...I’m kind of glad it did, too. I mean, you’re a funny drunk. Very clingy.”

He pushes at her arm, light and playful and they both laugh. She moves a little closer without thinking. She does it because she can, and she wants to, and she’s also still a little delirious from the lack of sleep.

    “It wasn’t cool, though,” Dolls continues. “That’s not what I’m supposed to be like. That’s not who I am.”

Wynonna shrugs. “People always say, ‘your drunk words are your sober thoughts.’”

    “Well, then that’s embarrassing.”

Wynonna just looks at him. He’s tired and hungover and guilty, and she knows how that feels. But also, he admitted it. Not that she wasn’t sure before when he was slurring his speech and tripping over himself, but now she knows that he  _ really  _ means it. All drunk confessions and desperation, he’s hers if she wants him. 

And she does.

So she kisses him. 

Words aren’t sufficing, and he’s laying there sad looking and regretful  _ in her bed _ , with his head against her pillow, so she figures the only thing she can say- only thing she can do- is nothing at all, to shut both of them up in a way that answers everything. 

Her heart is pounding against her chest and she swears he can feel it; he smiles against her lips and his hands find her waist, her lower back and suddenly she’s wide awake. This is, by far, their best kiss yet, all heat and passion and emotion and there’s nothing sad about it this time. Not even the memories of his drunken declarations, tinged with the assumed fate of being second place, matter anymore, because she thinks she’s made herself clear, just as he has. She whines against her lips when his hand slips up her shirt and she has to steady herself, a hand on his forearm, before it becomes too much already.

He’s the one to finally pull back, rest his forehead against her as he finds his words.

    “Wynonna…” he breathes.

    “Yeah,” she responds, not a question or an answer but simply a response, saying  _ yes, I’m here too, I feel it too. _

    “So...in case there was any confusion, I’m not with Doc,” Wynonna says after a moment, when she can _ kind of  _ breathe again.

Dolls strokes her hair and breaks out into one of the biggest smiles she’s ever seen on him. “Yeah, I figured.”

This time, when his lips find hers it’s slower and she lets go of a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding. They can take their time, can relish in these moments because they’re  _ theirs  _ to own, in secret and maybe even in public- Wynonna isn’t sure how much of a prude her “boss” will be for not getting distracted. But now, they’re not something that has to be desperate and rushed. They can stay up all morning, entangled limbs and newfound kisses and smiles over and over, if they want, or they can sleep. They can do what they want, together, and that’s a better feeling than alcohol could ever give them.

**Author's Note:**

> This was so fun to write! Thank you to this anon for this request, I'd love to see drunk Dolls someday- although I think it says a lot about him that he doesn't drink, especially compared to Wynonna. (I love this "opposites attract" ship.) Thanks for reading, and feel free to message me or send prompts here or on my Tumblr @ the same username! :)


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